Dad. Dont remind me, she moaned, and moved to dismantle Graysons second volcano.
Rebecca hadnt spoken to Dad since the afternoon she had hung up on him. She should call him and make amends, she knew that, but she had no desire to do so, and ended up putting the call off in favor of another fabulous weekend, where the subject of Russ Erwin did not come up again. Nor did the campaign. On Saturday, Matt and Rebecca took Grayson to the new Texas History museum, then on to Barton Springs, where Grayson and Matt swam in the cool spring waters while Rebecca lazily read a romance novel (which, she smugly noted, had nothing on the nights she and Matt spent together). Saturday evening, Bella happily took Grayson until the family meal on Sunday so that Matt and Rebecca could have an evening alone.
Matt was excited about the date he had planned dinner and jazz at an old-fashioned supper club. They dined on sea bass, listened to some great jazz, and crawled home in the early-morning hours. As exhausted as they were, both of them were still anxious to put their hands on each others body, and made slow, languid love until they drifted off to sleep in each others arms. And in that unearthly place between wake and sleep, as Matts breathing began to deepen, Rebecca smiled, whispered, This is love.... I love you, too. He didnt speak, just rolled over and wrapped his arm around her.
On Sunday afternoon, while Matt was dozing through a baseball game on TV, Rebecca padded into his office and dialed her father in New York, where Robin said he was.
Yeah, he answered gruffly.
Dad?
Rebecca, he said quietly. So you finally decided to pick up the phone and speak to your old man again?
She closed her eyes, preparing herself. Yes.
Great minds think alike, I guess. I got tired of waiting for you to make the first move and Ive tried to get you all weekend, but you wont answer the phone.
Thats because Grayson and I have been in town, she said carefully.
In town?
In Austin. With a friend.
There was the dead silence on the other end while it sunk in. And at last Dad said, I see.
Rebecca sighed, stared at a picture of Matt at some event somewhere. Dad, you remember the gala? Well, I thought about what you said, and I put it together after all. I am calling to invite you. I was hoping you would come and see what Ive been doing, and ., . and meet Matt.
Dad didnt say anything at first. Thats his name, huh?
Matt Parrish. Hes a lawyer in town.
God, he groaned, then sighed wearily. Are you happy, Bec?
The question surprised her. I... yes, Dad. I am. But why dont you come see for yourself?
What, come to Austin? he asked in a voice that sounded, remarkably, almost hopeful.
Yes, to Austin. Actually, I think this gala is going to be really fantastic. Ive pretty much done it on my own, but Id really like . .. She stopped, hearing the words in her head and not wanting to say them.
Youd like . . . ?
Id really like to know what you think, she said at last.
That, he said, is encouraging. Yes, I want to see it, Bec. I want to know what is important to you, in spite of what you might think.
Amazing what a little hanging up could do, Rebecca thought, and smiled. Thanks, Dad, she said. They talked a little longer about Grayson before ending the call. Rebecca was still sitting in Matts office, staring at the picture of him with her feet propped up on the edge of the desk when Matt came in, looking for her. Hey, he said.
I have news, she said with a big, anxious smile.
Whats that?
Dads coming to meet you.
Oh shit, Matt groaned, and slid helplessly down the wall onto his haunches.
Sometimes Matt felt as if he were on a seesaw. Things would be going along so great, and then someone would accuse him of being pushy, or opinionated, or somehow superior, and lately he had been getting it all from sides. Enough that he was seriously reassessing. Everything.
First, there was Ben, who, when he found out Matt had taken on Charlie, a transient who had been hit by a public bus, went ballistic. What in the hell is the matter with you, Parrish? Are you trying to ruin us? he had railed in Matts office one afternoon as Matt had calmly perched himself on the windowsill and let him have at it.
Of course I am not trying to ruin us, Ben, and I have to tell you, pal, your song of ruination is getting a little old. Weve done pretty well for ourselves. I brought in the Rosenberg case and the Wheeler White case, and they were both big money settlements. Now you just sound greedy.
Give me a break! You sound like you think you have some superior cause and the rest of us attorneys just cant understand your higher calling! Ben had angrily shouted back, so loudly that Harold had quickly jumped up and
pulled the door shut. I am sick to death of this save-the-world crap you have going, Matt. You may think you are bringing in the money, but take a look at the books. / am the only one consistently bringing in paying clients while you are taking on homeless drunks!
Days like this. Matt really wanted to throttle Ben, but he managed to remain calm. Charlie has a right to seek legal counsel. He got hit by a bus, Ben. He wasnt doing anything but standing there when a big fat-ass bus with Jim Carreys face painted on the side came barreling around the corner on a red light. I know you dont give a shit what happens to him, but look at it from a humanitarian standpoint. If there was a chance in hell this guy would have ever gotten off the streets, its gone now he can hardly walk, much less work! Cap Metro knows they hit him, they know that their driver was at fault, yet they have practically told Charlie to go to hell.
Thats because, Ben said, barely able to control his seething, your charity case had a blood alcohol content of point one four, almost twice the legal limit. Cap Metro will have no problem convincing a jury that the bum was so drunk, he stepped off the curb in front of their bus. You know that, and still you go looking for this shit? Ben exclaimed helplessly.
I didnt go looking for him! Matt shouted back, having reaching his limit of patience. Kate Leslie in the drug diversion court called me. And I had a hard time pretending that because the guy is homeless and an alcoholic, he is not entitled to the same laws and protections that we enjoy! So what if we lose the case? Doesnt he deserve legal representation?
Ben threw his hands in the air. Theres not a goddamn thing I can say to you, is there? Were at opposite ends of the universe!
There it was, the truth said out loud and now lying there, like a corpse, between two old friends. Neither of them said anything for a long moment, just stared at each other as the truth sunk in. Yeah, Matt said at last. I guess we are.
Ben had turned and walked out of his office.
Thats the way they left it that afternoon and for days afterward, a philosophical argument hanging over them like a death knell, affecting everyone in the place. Even Harold, unflappable Harold, was making little mistakes, the type for which he normally would have offered his resignation. And that alone, Matt thought, was reason enough to do something. The only problem was, he couldnt figure out what, exactly, he was supposed to do.
So he just kept working, hoping the problem would go away, or that a solution would magically present itself.
Fortunately, there was Rebecca to keep him afloat. He was enjoying her metamorphosis, watching her chip away at her perfect little cocoon and seeing her true beauty shine through. In sharp contrast to the perfectly put together house he had first entered, now there were books strewn all over her house, haphazardly dropped in one place or another, without regard to color or height. There were days at the lake house she never donned even a smudge of makeup which made no difference to him, frankly, because there was naturally something terribly seductive about her, whatever she wore or did. But the biggest sign of change had to be the evening Grayson spilled ice cream on a very expensive rug. She didnt freak out, she didnt scream with horror, she didnt cry. She laughed and made some remark about how much the boy was like his mother when it came to ice cream a real pig.
Hell, the more Matt knew Rebecca, the lovelier she became, and he knew, of course, that he was head over heels for her. Completely and totally captivated, obviously and permanently bewitched. Obvious to him, anyway, because when she began to exhibit her newfound enthusiasm for politics, he really couldnt think of anything to say, especially since he had, in a heated moment, encouraged it. And then having subsequently learned, on those rare occasions he actually did say something, like, Why are you doing this, the new Rebecca could bust his balls like nobodys business in the course of reminding him why she was doing it. Yikes.
So, okay, she was really cute when she was studying, and Matt chalked up her absurd infatuation with Russ Erwin to that gentle quirkiness about her he found so endearing, and listed it as one of the frighteningly few things in the con column, along with hogs the covers. Which she did (and audaciously denied).
But there was, admittedly, another part of him that was mildly alarmed she could be so easily taken in by a bunch of grass-eating, tree-clinging, salamander lovers. Rebecca was exactly the type those environmental goofballs preyed on big-hearted, overly concerned about things like stray dogs and spindly tomato plants and trash on the roadside. He could just hear them now: Please, Rebecca, please help us save the universe! Corporate America is stealing our air! Your son and your dogs and your tomato plants will not have air to breathe and we will ALL choke to death!
Puh -leez. Matt had been around this race long enough to know that if it wasnt one gimmick, it was another, and this Russ Erwin, whoever he was, had landed on a pretty good one. Normally, he would have ignored it altogether. But normally, he wasnt working on the opponents campaign. And normally, neither was she. There was just a little too much conflict of interest there for the lawyer in him to ignore And furthermore, he did have a personal stake in the outcome of this race a stake that, given his rift with Ben. was beginning to emerge as very important. If running for district attorney was really an option for him, he was going to have to see this bullshit through.
So when Rebecca called him up one day, asked if she could tag along that evening to one of the last candidate forums, he said yes, thinking it would be a good opportunity to point out a few things about Tom and Phil Harbaugh that might perhaps move her off the Russ Erwin dime.
She was at his loft at precisely six oclock in the evening, armed with a small notebook and a sheath of study papers. They took her new king cab pickup to fetch Pat and Angie. Both women looked at Rebecca as if shed lost her mind.
What in Gods name did you buy this for? Pat
demanded, struggling to climb up to the backseat in the tight, but securely fastened, dull gray skirt she always wore.
To haul dogs and other stuff. Do you like it?
Its not really you, Pat said flatly. Its more like ... I dont even know who its like.
I think its totally awesome, said Angie, whose hair was neon blue today, almost an exact match to the new tattoo of a bluebird on her neck.
Thanks! Rebecca chirped. Wheres Gilbert?
He went with Tom. They needed to go over his opening remarks one last time, Angie said.
Meaning, Gilbert is writing them as Tom decides them on the way over, Pat translated, then made a sound of disgust. I swear to God, sometimes I wonder whos really running the show, she complained.
Why do you support him? Rebecca asked, looking in her rearview mirror at the more-dour-than-usual Pat.
She shrugged, looked out the window. Oh, hes not that bad. And hes definitely the lesser of two evils.
You mean three, Rebecca corrected her.
No, I didnt mean three. I meant two. The Independent hasnt got a snowballs chance in hell.
Fortunately, Matt, thought, Rebecca didnt argue that like she did with him on what was becoming a fairly routine basis.
They reached the auditorium where the forum would be held and trooped in together, but the place was packed to the gills and they had to separate to find seats. Matt and Rebecca managed to snag two end seats on the aisle, one directly behind the other. Rebecca took the one behind Matt, and as the announcer came on stage, Matt heard her shuffling through the papers she had brought and rolled his eyes heavenward.
After a series of deadly boring speeches by local and state politicians (what was it about politicians that made them promise to keep remarks brief, then proceed to talk until they were blue in the face?), the candidates were finally introduced. The lieutenant governor candidates would go first, followed by the gubernatorial candidates.
The first one up was the incumbent Phil Harbaugh, who made a couple of very lame jokes that Matt didnt even get before launching into a little speech about the lack of revenues to keep state government running without noting, Matt thought wryly, if all the state government apparatus needed to keep running and talked about his plans to increase revenue that would NOT RESULT IN A TAX INCREASE TO THE AVERAGE, HARDWORKING TEXAN! His solution? Increase the gas and/or grocery tax, which, to Matts way of thinking, amounted to a tax increase to the average, hardworking Texan, no matter how you sliced it.
Tom was next. Matt winced when he began his speech with an off-color joke about how these debates were a little like women no matter how logical you were, you could never really win and then proceeded to explain to the audience that he wasnt going to talk about taxes and program cuts, but how to strengthen the economy. Matt braced himself. Surprisingly, Tom had a couple of realistic things to say and had gotten much more articulate on his plan for economic growth: the superhighway, with a major gas pipeline running underneath, from Dallas-Ft. Worth to Mexico, all five hundred some-odd miles. This, Tom argued, would provide jobs and a new high-speed route for commerce around an already congested traffic corridor.